What Else?
by WhyAreAllThePenNamesTaken
Summary: The Intelligence Squad attempts to stop an assassination, and a sudden turn of events makes Jay rethink the path he's on. Set late season 4.


A/N: This takes place towards the end of season 4, but Burgess is there, because I have a note.

* * *

In the Intelligence squad room, a recording of a phone call was playing. "Get your tools together, we've got a job to do. I'll meet you at the place."

"Got it." The call ended.

"That call we pulled from a wiretap on Anton Vargas, a known enforcer for the 221 gang," said Voight. We believe the other voice is Bob Blake, one of their top shot callers. We assume the job is a murder. How do we stop it?"

The unit sat staring at the floor, thinking.

"We could tail their enforcers," suggested Burgess.

"They have a dozen guys who could pull this off," said Olinsky. "We tail one and they'll switch to another."

Atwater put his head up. "We know they don't bang on corners and hoppers, they go after the top guys.

"Right," said Voight. "Drop them and put anyone with game on their team."

"Who are they beefing with?"

"The Falcons. Their top guy is Terry Falcone," said Olinsky. The detective hadn't even needed to look at a file for that information.

"Imaginative. So, we watch him and snatch up whoever comes knocking. Worst case, we take a killer off the streets, best case, we roll him up and see where he goes."

"Alright, it's a plan," said Hank. "Halstead, Lindsay, you've got the first shift, then Burgess and Olinski, Atwater and Ruzek you've got the morning. Let's get to work."

* * *

Erin and Jay were nearing the end of their shift. Falcone has been in a bar all night and aside from a homeless guy that had shuffled past an hour ago, there had been nothing.

"What do you think is in there?" Jay said. "Poker night, wannabe mafioso summit?"

"Who cares? We're just here to make sure he doesn't get his head shot off."

"I was thinking strip joint."

"Why do you always go dirty?"

"Hey, these hips don't lie."

Erin smiled, then sighed. "I would know more about that if you were home."

Jay turned away. "Erin-."

"If you're worried about losing it, you can sleep on the couch, but I want you to talk to me. We're supposed to be doing this together."

"I just need to work this out on my own."

"Yeah, because that has been going so well."

"Listen Erin-."

Falcone came out of the bar. "Here he comes," said Erin. Jay settled down in his seat and checked his mirrors. Erin's hand went to the door handle, ready to go.

Falcone passed an alleyway. A man in black with a balaclava covering his face stepped out of the alley. Erin and Jay hit the doors as the man raised a pistol. They shouted "Chicago PD" as he pulled the trigger. Terry Falcone's lifeless body crumpled to the ground as his murderer turned to Erin and Jay and opened fire.

Jay and Erin ducked behind the car's doors for cover. Jay could hear the bullets impacting on the bulletproof glass and plating.

He turned to Erin. "You okay?"

A bullet ricocheted off the door frame. "Yeah."

"When he stops to reload, you lay down suppressive fire, I'll run across the street." At which point their divided positions would allow them to cover each other, bracket the shooter, or roll up and flank.

"Got it."

The firing stopped. Erin stood up and fired towards the alley mouth. Jay ran across the street. He heard the distant screech of tires, but didn't stop. He reached the cover of the cars. When no more shots came, he poked his head up. The shooter was gone.

He shouted out, "moving."

"Move." Jay ran towards the alley, keeping low, ready to dive for cover. He reached the corner risked a quick glance before making the full turn.

Nothing.

"Damnit."

Within four minutes, the first patrol unit showed up. Thirty second it seemed like every patrol unit in three districts had arrived. Sergeant Platt arrive a minute after that and began directing a search. Voight and the rest of the squad showed up shortly thereafter.

"You two okay?" said Voight.

"Yeah, there's tire treads in the street, we need to check traffic camera footage, maybe it saw the car.

"Ruzek and Atwater are on that. Jay, what the two of you need to do is go back to the district, write up your statements, take a shower and find another gear." He turned to Burgess and Olinsky. "Find Vargas"

* * *

Erin came out of the shower to find Jay still sitting in the locker room, staring at his hands.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I -. No, my hands keep shaking."

"It's just adrenaline."

"I know I just…" He stood up and faced Erin. "You were right, I was wrong. I shouldn't be doing this on my own. That's not what we're supposed to be, and if one of those bullets had ricocheted the wrong way or the armour had failed, I'd never see you again. I love you, and I want to come home."

Erin kissed him roughly, shoving him against the wall. "You hurt me."

"I'm sorry."

"I need you."

Jay pulled her towel away. Erin's hands went to his belt but Jay pushed her hands away.

He answered her confusion as he dropped to his knees. "You first."

When they were finished, Erin rested in the cradle of Jay's arms, both of them breathing hard and foreheads pressed together.

Erin said, "we need another shower."

"Cool."

"No shower sex, I don't want to break your dick." Jay made a show of being disappointed. "We can cuddle though."

"Deal."

* * *

Vargas, was in his apartment, sleeping off a hangover, when a tactical unit broke down his door. Now he sat in a jacket and jeans in the interrogation room. Jon, Erin, Voight, Olinsky and Burgess stood in the observation room.

"He wasn't lying," said Burgess. "He was in the bar from about half an hour before the shooting, and he didn't leave his spot until closing."

"He knew we'd come looking," said Olinsky.

Erin tapped Jay's forearm. "The homeless guy."

Jay nodded. "They were scouting the spot."

"That's interesting," said Olinsky.

"How so?" Burgess asked.

"It means this crew is tactically proficient."

"And reckless," said Voight. "They knew you were there, but they took the shot anyway."

"We could sweat him for a while, see if something pops loose."

"No, the moment you go in there, he'll shout lawyer and then he'll walk in a couple of hours. Call Rixton, tell him to put on team on Vargas. I want to know where he moves and who he sits with. Then go in there and put on a show. Make him thing we're two steps behind."

"On it."

* * *

"We've got something," said Atwater as Voight walked into the bullpen

"What?"

"We found the car."

"How?"

"There were 7 vehicles within 5 blocks of the murder. We followed them all until we found someone."

"How long did that take?

"About six hours," said Ruzek. He turned to Atwater. "You want coffee."

"Hell yeah." Ruzek turned to Voight, who shook his head. Ruzek headed for the break room.

"Okay, who is it?"

Atwater turned the screen. "Bob Blake."

"He did it himself. Where is this?"

"Outside an apartment building, the car then carries on to a car rental place. Gangs thinks its linked to the 221 gang."

"Have auto tear it apart."

"What about Blake?"

"Do we know where he lays his head?"

"There're a couple of places we know of."

"Let's go find him."

* * *

Pratt tapped her pen against the duty roster. Intelligence had raided two apartments looking for the shooter and still had an office and two bars to go. All well and good, but that would take hours and half her uniforms. hich meant that she had to cover all the regular patrols with half the units. She was debating whether to call in a favour she was owed at the 31 for help covering her bases.

A man cleared his throat. Pratt looked up from the desk to see Bob Blake standing at his desk. Her hand went to the butt of her revolver. The young man smirked. "I think you're looking for me."

Two officers came up from the garage. They saw the confrontation and followed Pratt's lead.

"Excuse me," said a voice. Pratt turned her head slightly, keeping one eye on Blake. A balding man in a tan suit stood holding a briefcase. "I'm his lawyer."

"I want a lawyer," said Blake.

Pratt turned to the two officers. "Put him in holding." She pulled her radio from its place under the desk. "Voight, you are not going to believe this."

* * *

An hour later Bob Blake was in the interrogation room.

"Not very brave, handing yourself in," said Ruzek. "What are your buddies going to think?"

"That Hank Voight was looking for me."

Ruzek smiled. "Fair enough."

"We need your DNA," said Atwater.

"Why, I'm sure its already on file."

"You were 17 the last time you were arrested. The law says we had to destroy it."

"That sounds like some bullshit."

"Maybe. Are you going to give it up?"

"For what purpose?" The lawyer interjected.

"We found your client's hair in a car near the scene."

"Whatever, let's not waste time," said Blake.

Once the sample was collected, Atwater initiated the confrontation. "Where were you last night?"

"Out with some friends, we played basketball for a couple of hours. Had a beer, my friend Nate drove me home."

"And if we talk to Nate, he'll tell us the same thing?" Ruzek asked.

"No reason why he wouldn't."

Ruzek and Atwater looked at each other. In truth, they'd had little to begin with, the car was not close enough to the crime scene to make a connection, and Blake had been careful not to allow himself to be caught in an obvious lie. He was a thinker. Time to get under his skin.

"He seems pretty cool," said Ruzek.

"He would, he's been out of places like this since he was thirteen," said Atwater.

"Its in his blood too. His mother had priors for solicitation, possession, three pages deep."

"Don't call her a whore," said Blake quietly.

"She was a whore," said Ruzek. Blake was on his feet in a moment, with Atwater and Ruzek half a second behind. The lawyer remained seated.

He turned to his client. "Sit down."

Blake remained standing.

"They've gone personal. They're trying to rattle you so they can catch you in a lie. Which means they have nothing. Which means that you're going to walk out of here. But only if you sit down."

Slowly, Blake lowered himself into his seat and then took a deep breath while staring at the table. He looked up, calm, and with more than a hint of triumph in his eye.

On the other side of the glass, Voight curled his lips. "Damn it."

* * *

Bob Blake had a spring in his step as he walked across the lobby. If looks could kill, Pratt, the Intelligence squad and every officer of the 21 would have been going down for murder. At the door, he looked at Jay. "Listen Detective, I know you think I did this. I didn't, but if you still feel sore about this, I'm working the door at the Parillion Club tonight. Come down there and we can have it out."

Jay smiled. "Catch you later." Blake walked out the door. Jay walked to the stairs.

"Is it wrong that I wanted you to punch his teeth in," said Burgess.

"You should never punch someone in the mouth, you'll cut you hand, plus the human mouth is gross." He turned to Voight. "Rixton's crew is following that guy, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

* * *

Erin and Jay were sitting on the couch in her apartment, watching a football game.

"I'm surprised you didn't take Blake up on his offer."

"I thought about it, but it wouldn't have been about protecting myself, or you, or doing the job, just making myself feel better. That's not who I want to be."

Erin nodded. "Well, some assholes who don't know you are going to talk shit about you, but the people who matter know you're doing the right thing."

They sat in silence for a while. Jay reached out and took Erin's hand. "It feels good, talking to you."

Erin turned to face him. "Its what we're supposed to be, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, what else?"


End file.
